


gather the ends

by maladictive



Series: Doe's Garden of Well-Disguised Ideological Discourse [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, pre shippy but in the end its like ... its like she's in love trust me, redemption ish very very ish, welcome to character exploration fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7678912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maladictive/pseuds/maladictive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am Symmetra,” she says. “And yourself?”</p><p>“Call me Pharah, but if you scream in terror a few times I’ll get the message. Now, hands in front, you’re going to fly with me.”</p><p>Symmetra bungles a midnight mission, makes a friend, and then finds destiny. Or something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gather the ends

**Author's Note:**

> RIGHT SO any mistakes are mine bc it's unbetaed etc etc i love pharah and symmetra so they should marry bc they'd be perfect for each other xoxo 
> 
> this is on tumblr too @smokehill hit me up !!!

Satya’s always felt some comfort in the clean and orderly, especially between the chaos. In this ballroom, where there’s an indiscriminate mix of smells and perfumes and colors and various fabrics and at least five languages in every direction, her eyes are drawn to a rather comforting sight. A woman, dressed all in blue, with straight black hair and brown skin.

The woman stands aside from a group she clearly belongs to, head tilted into her right shoulder, obviously tuning into an earpiece over the din and chatter of her surroundings. She stands perfectly straight, shoulders tossed back gracefully— somehow making a smooth and elegant line from her shoulders to her hips.

This must be the much-talked-of Miss Amari, resistance leader and army hero. There were some much eavesdropped-on rumors earlier that week of her newly recalled Overwatch sympathies, many people felt she’d follow her mother into that service and go back to her roots. Many others felt she’d carve out her own path as an independent operative. The nature of the discussion, as much as Satya could gather, was immensely exciting to the locals.

The general consensus within Vishkar Corp, in Satya’s observations, is that Miss Amari will be trouble. She’d made appearances at several protests and danced on military tanks with the rowdiest of the crowds.

Watching her now, seamlessly reentering her group’s circle and making her brief retreat look like a delicate grab for a passing waiter’s tray of baclawa, Satya finds it very hard to imagine her dancing on tanks.

In fact, she can’t help but let a small snort escape her.

She shakes her head at her companion’s inquisitive glance, and resolves to try to… talk when she is introduced to this woman.

The moment comes sooner than she believed. It may be that she was not the only one who wanted to be introduced.

“Fareeha Amari, this is Satya Vaswani, the star of Vishkar, she’s expressed an interest in meeting you.”

“Fortunate, I was wondering when I’d have a chance to yell at an actual Vishkar.”

Something in Satya bends, a little bit, when the full force of Amari’s stern eyes turn on her.

Satya plans a way out immediately, faced with the prospect of yelling, but Miss Amari seems determined to make conversation.

There’s no actual yelling, it turns out. Miss Amari apologizes when Satya points that out to her.

“I just say things sometimes, Miss Vaswani. I rarely actually yell.”

Satya shakes her head.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of my involvement with the protests.”

Satya frowns, annoyed at her for chasing this point, when it’s clear that they’re on opposite sides of the decision.

“Vishkar Corporations is making the world a better place, we simply mean to improve the city to foster safety and health.”

“Building cities and towers where homes used to be makes the city’s structure better, indeed, but where does a glorified architect get the right to enforce curfews and its own laws?”

“Think of what can be gained by a society with obstacles like crime and poverty eliminated, isn’t it worth the effort put in by all parties?”

Miss Amari smiles tightly.

“You know? You’d do much better figuring out what that effort actually is,” she says “instead of recycling what Vishkar has already told us.”

Satya feels increasingly attacked, and so goes silent. Miss Amari excuses herself politely, and Satya can’t take her eyes off her back as she turns to walk away.

-

Like Rio, the feeling comes back. Discomfort. She’s uncomfortable and uneasy. She needs to get back to work.

-

Symmetra’s job tonight is to scout the location of the initial building plan, to see if it could be conducive to hard light architecture. She must scout out the proposed development site under cover of night, having waylaid the fears of those in charge of its fate earlier that evening at the gala. If Cairo is an ideal project, she will carry that news forward. If it is not, they will move to push interest in Libya instead.

There is an increase of military and police presence in the area, an attempt at delicacy on the part of the city. They don’t wish to say outright that Vishkar is more vigilante than appearances suggest, and while she can’t say she appreciates dodging and hiding from the armed guards, she is used to it.

She is scheduled to fly there in a week, just in case the outcry here reaches levels that will tarnish Vishkar’s face even further than the situation in Rio de Janeiro managed to.

She finds a good section of the marked off area and proceeds to take notes, noting large buildings and convenience stores, an apartment building turned into a mosque. It’s less overwhelming than Rio or her own childhood home, but an excellent place to work with. The overwhelming Muslim population already follows a certain order, their mosques call out times for prayer and they keep that structure. This is what Vishkar operatives note in Cairo’s files. There is room for building upon what already exists.

Before she can set up a device to analyze the underground state of the area, each of her turrets is destroyed in what sounds like three rapid explosions. The ground shakes under her, making her lose her footing and fall to the ground. Her visored glasses are slipping on her face, and her bangs are caught underneath them, the explosion has shaken her earpiece out of its place as well.

She shields herself and immediately places three more around her, waiting, recalibrating, trying to pinpoint where the noises came from.

The figure on the roof above her doesn’t move, but it carries a large weapon, obscenely heavy looking and aimed right towards her. There’s a concussive blast as the figure takes to the air.

Raptora technology. She’s heard of these agents, and suddenly she cannot move, the engine is too loud and too close. There’s wind everywhere and noise. She stares, frozen, as the figure descends, ridiculously graceful despite its heavy armory.

“What a fascinating ability you have,” a cool voice says in accented English.

What to say to that?

“I don’t suppose you’re with Vishkar?”

Symmetra doesn’t know what possesses her to actually respond, but she does. “I am,” she says, and her voice doesn’t shake.

She doesn’t have an escape; she has only her projector and three more turrets. Setting them up takes little time but some focus. She’ll have to take eyes off the figure. More than enough time for that… machine to do massive damage to her. Her body contains technology that cannot fall into outside hands; it’d be disastrous.

Rio de Janeiro comes to mind. That boy. The one they called a hero.

No, she’s distracted now, and the lights reflecting off the armor are making her dizzy.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be right now?”

Symmetra does not answer that.

“I’ll ask you to kindly come with me, I’d hate to make this messy. I have rules about firing this rocket outside of combat.”

Symmetra silently undoes the turrets and stands. A plan already forming in her head, she places her hands together behind her back, summons a photon to try and direct at the figure.

“What should I call you?”

She loses focus, stunned by the sudden casual question, the photon blast behind her goes off, betraying her and pushing her forward. The figure doesn’t move, merely shifts weight and waits.

“I am Symmetra,” she says, like she didn’t entirely bungle her only hope for escape.  
“And yourself?”

“Call me Pharah, but if you scream in terror a few times I’ll get the message. Now, hands in front, you’re going to fly with me.”

Within a moment she’s handcuffed and firmly between cold and metallic arms.

-

Symmetra does scream in terror. This so-called Pharah _cannot_ fly, she said she could but she lied. This is not flying. There’s too much swooping, too much landing suddenly and swooping again. She can’t even muster the strength to place her turrets and try to escape, she’s holding her handcuffed hands close to her chest, her head tucked down, the pressure keeping her chin low on her chest.

She screams, and hears a dark snort above her.

They touch down suddenly and stay grounded this time. Pharah speaks rapidly into what Symmetra assumes is a communications line within her visor. She cannot understand the Arabic and can barely gather her wits enough to summon a turret between her restricted hands. She focuses on breathing; Pharah’s arm a steady presence across her shoulders.

It tenses, and she understands the implication. She lets the half turret fade and looks up to watch Pharah’s visored, birdlike face blur slightly as the shield sets in. She’s smiling.

“Clever. Do that for me sometime, won’t you?”

Symmetra believes she is joking, but says nothing, just in case.

“Unfortunately, my plans to deposit you in front of your leadership as an example are foiled. There’s a problem I must take care of, and I think it’d do you good to help me, don’t you think?”

Symmetra says nothing.

“You’ll come with me. I’ve been recording this entire exchange. Unless you kill me, Vishkar’s Cairo operations are over, so whether or not you run matters little.”

Symmetra nods tightly, and braces herself for the inevitable take off.

She does not scream this time.

-

The city has uglier secrets than she expected.

It’s even more ugly when she gets past the men Pharah has already beaten to the ground with her armored fists and sees the figures huddled in the dust and rubble. Pharah removed the handcuffs, but she knows running will be useless. She might as well stay with the only hope for reliable transportation until this night ends.

Not all of the men here were taken down by Pharah, it should suffice to say.

“Remodeling and rules won’t heal this,” Pharah says, her face turned away.

Someone sobs. Pharah is immediately at the dark shape’s side, hushing and soothing and fanning away fumes and smoke from wet eyes and running noses. Symmetra can’t see clearly, but she hears Pharah’s visor go up.

There are suddenly miles between her and the huddled people; oceans between her and the hero crouched in front of them.

Symmetra puts her shields back up, then places several around Pharah, and creates several turrets to place within the immediate area.

Pharah jerks as the shields fall around her, surprised. “Thank you,” she says, seemingly to the curly head of black hair between her arms. “You’ve done more good tonight than I think you set out to do.”

Symmetra wants to do good. She wants to— Pharah’s visor goes up and she speaks into her comms in Arabic, ignoring Symmetra again.

She could run now.

They stand amongst sirens and flashing lights, the voices thanking them now only echoes in the background, and Pharah asks for her contact information. It’s oddly surreal.

Symmetra gives her a business card, and Pharah tucks it away in a slot alongside the armor on her right arm. Pharah asks if she wouldn’t mind flying back to her hotel. Symmetra, after a moment, decides she’d rather walk.

Unfortunately, this creates an atmosphere for discussion.

“I agree with you that the world needs order, but more than that it needs justice.” Pharah says, armor reflecting the lights of cars and lamps into her face and back into the street. Many people stare, and Symmetra gives up feeling nervous about their visibility. Pharah is clearly a figure well respected here.

“Is that what you do when you hop about in that armor? Justice?”

“No. No, it’s not justice that I do now. I anticipate a great change in my future, actually.”

Symmetra watches her.

“Vigilantism?”

“That is one path I could take.”

Something about this is familiar, but Symmetra is distracted by the prospect of a vigilante hero.

“You disagree with Vishkar Corporations, you don’t think we’re good for this city, so you will seek to fix it yourself”

“Sounds heroic, right?”

“Order creates solutions where there were none before, you should consider my mission.”

“It could, but enforcing it assumes people need to be herded and molded and not taught and inspired.”

“We won’t agree on this, we should stop talking about it.” Symmetra doesn’t want to argue with Pharah, she wants to know what to do now.

She doesn’t know what to do. Never has an operation gone so wrong, but she has also never fought beside anyone. She doesn’t remember the last time she walked alongside another person like this.

There is silence for a long while, until they reach the gardens not far from the hotel, and Pharah lifts her visor.

It’s dark, but Symmetra hears the hiss it makes as it goes up and sees the shining eyes beneath.

“Working with you has been a pleasure, I hate to see you wasted on Vishkar.” The woman says. “Also, this vigilante by moonlight look suits you much better.”

Satya stands there long after the unmistakable laugh of one Miss Amari is nothing but a memory in her head, but she replays it over and over again.

-

“Regrettably, Vishkar will not be continuing operations in Cairo. The land is not fit for construction and the ensuing creations will be at risk for failure. When the technology expands we hope to meet with you once more.”

All Satya can hear is cheers and roaring approval.

Her stomach keeps rolling, rather like it did when Pharah set her down in front of the embassy two nights ago and revealed her face.

She’s lied to management.

She’s lying.

Isn’t that wrong?

But wasn’t every voice in Cairo telling her she was wrong from the very start?

-

“Miss Vaswani,” the voice says.

It’s been a week since the gala and since the armored and heroic Pharah took her from rooftop to rooftop in horrific leaps and swoops.

“Miss Amari, it is good to hear from you.” Satya has, after all, had a week to compose herself after the Pharah Revelation. She can be polite with the best of them.

“I was wondering if you’d lend me your skill once more, unless you think it’s awkward of me to ask.”

Awkward? Yes, Satya believes it’s awkward. Cairo’s protesting and dancing populace very decidedly booted the corporation from its territory in terms of public approval, even if officially Vishkar resigned from the operation.

Satya’s been watching the movements within the company, aware of what they might do after being turned down so thoroughly, but the lie she created about the catacomb-like bedrock was thorough, like she intended it to be. So far no uncomfortable news has reached her ears, and she’s been sent on no missions to follow up on the rejected land.

It’s awkward, but it’s not unwelcome. It won’t be breaking any actual rules to meet with Miss Amari, but it would be dangerous.

“I cannot lend you my skill, it would be a conflict of interest.”

“Luckily for you my interest in this conflict is massive, and your interest is already conflicted. Please, Miss Vaswani. I won’t be flying you this time, if that puts you at ease.”

“Any expenses to get me from here to there—“

“Will be covered. How lucky are we to have the considerable resources available to Overwatch members?”

Miss Amari _is_ aligned with Overwatch. She knew it.

“You _are_ Overwatch, I knew it.”

“Overwatch has always been a dream of mine. Destiny, I believe, had its plans laid out for me.” Symmetra likes the way her smile bleeds into her voice. Contained, but warm. The almost constant unease of the past month fades a little, but returns when she remembers her own duties.

“You said you were leaving the army, I didn’t know you already had,” she says to buy time to think.

“I left a while ago, worked in a certain security operation to defend a certain thing or two, and then… Overwatch.”

“Overwatch found you?”

“In its own way.”

-

The mission involves obtaining an electronic device storing crucial and highly top-secret data from a bank in Switzerland. It is one of the consequences of the Overwatch Recall, Pharah says. Her own personal information might be in Miss Vaswani’s hands by the end of the night, but she doesn’t seem very fazed by the idea.

“Your abilities are immense and I’m grateful for your cooperation. There’s nothing about this mission that will get back to your superiors, or that will trace back to Vishkar.”

“Unless we’re caught.”

“We won’t be.”

“You don’t seem like the sort to go on such covert… delicate missions. Why were you assigned to this?” Satya cannot help but wonder. She’s seen Pharah in action, if the noise and nature of her armor and weaponry was not enough of a clue, she’s not the sneaking around sort.

“I wasn’t assigned this. I requested it.”

Satya remembers her moonlight job in Cairo.

“Why do you wish for me to—why do you want me to help you?”

Pharah doesn’t say anything for a long while, it’s almost quiet, but for the constant grumble of the plane’s engines.

“I could use your assistance, and I have seen you work. Overwatch is low on members right now, and spread thin.”

It’s not much of an answer.

The next time Miss Amari calls with a request, Satya doesn’t feel the pressing urge to wonder why.

She’s only glad for the opportunity to work alongside Pharah again. She’s glad for the work, there’s something about it that makes Vishkar easier to bear, and she’s glad for the conversation.

Even when Miss Amari’s conversation makes her uneasy, she does not want her to stop.

Satya begins to realize that Miss Amari is baiting her. She wants Satya to talk to her, to be uncomfortable sometimes; Miss Amari is aiming to pull a certain reaction out of her.

-

“Overwatch has done its share to create chaos for itself and everything around it.”

Pharah, who was watching the sunset quietly, glances up at Symmetra where she stands and then looks back out to the skyline. It’s after their third mission together. Another stealthy job, one that had Pharah almost tagging along as backup as Satya put plans and ideas together.

Pharah doesn’t seem to mind.

“Its intentions were good from the beginning, even when it made mistakes.”

“As were mine.”

Symmetra sits down finally, but Miss Amari has no eyes for the sunset anymore.

“Overwatch fell apart from the inside, that was its failing. If they had kept order, and a steady and dependable chain of command, then perhaps—“

“The problems in Overwatch were greatly personal as well as hierarchical. Order wouldn’t have solved things like that, it just would have prevented them from affecting the organization.”

“Is that not the point?”

Pharah’s eyes are covered, and Symmetra can’t make out the expression on her face, but her mouth is tilted oddly to one side.

“I like your hair like this.”

“How so?”

“Down. The style you usually wear doesn’t suit you, and your forehead is very nice. You should show it off.”

Satya fiddles with her hair, tossed over one shoulder and down from its Vishkar standard bun.

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“It’s the truth.”

-

It goes like this. Miss Amari calls her into a very different sort of operation than she probably undertakes regularly, introduces her casually to a colleague on the comms, expects nothing from her but cooperation and help, and Satya can sit by her side afterwards and talk.

Usually the colleague is a man named Winston, who is very courteous and also expects little small talk. Symmetra does not feel odd for not speaking to him more than is absolutely necessary.

There are smaller rituals. Reading every file on the flight to the destination, highlighting key details she wants to make note of, Miss Amari asking her why it matters how tall the walls are within the base. Satya tells her how far from her person she can summon a turret.

She shields Pharah before she takes off, and she shields Pharah when she lands.

Pharah leaves Symmetra with the mission’s objective, and secures the area, and Symmetra checks her work emails and fields questions from various interns with terrible posture.

The secret to good posture, she decides that day, watching Pharah in the air, must be good core strength.

Miss Amari thanks her; she tells her it was rewarding to work with Symmetra, and to please consider assisting her again on an operation she’s bullied her way into in San Francisco later that week.

Satya wonders what she’s doing.

It’s becoming increasingly obvious that Pharah is bullying her way onto missions she knows Symmetra will excel in, coming along as more of a handler and a guide than someone who needs her help.

-

Pharah leaves her for only a moment in San Francisco, puts her on the side of a wharf and disappears. Symmetra barely has time to appreciate the seals sunning themselves and the ocean wind blowing through her loose hair before there’s the racket of someone excessively swooping closer to her.

Pharah returns bearing ice cream and a wide smile that seems out of place when her eyes are still hidden behind her visor.

-

The unease does not go away, but it eases when she’s with Pharah. It’s almost forgettable afterwards, when they talk and Pharah lowers her visor more and more often, blending Fareeha Amari with the incomparably strong Pharah.

Miss Amari, who works alongside heroes, who is a hero herself. Must be, if her missions and her work are any indications of heroism.

And Satya.

Satya works for a corporation that’s been booted from cities like a disease, still works for a corporation that makes her feel…

Satya just wants to rest. Which is confusing, because it’s moments like these that she forgets she’s tired.

But the unease never leaves.

The blur of peace and discomfort is finally interrupted when Pharah tells Satya she’d like to introduce her to the boy. The young man from Rio.

Satya turns and runs, she hears Amari calling out for her but can’t turn back.

The feeling builds, the horrible feeling, and she can’t see. Her vision’s blurred and something cold is on her arm, then around her waist.

“Satya, please wait! I’ve spoken to him, he knows you’ve helped me since then, he knows you’re— That you’re—“

She can’t be here. Amongst revolutionaries and heroes and Miss Amari.

“I can’t be here with you,” she wants to say. She wants to scream it.

“— you’ve done so much, and you know how much I believe in you—“

She won’t ever be able to describe where she gets the strength, but she finds it. She finds it in her to pull away and run, and a portal opens under her hands with scarcely a thought.

Everything about her belongs to Vishkar.

The hotel room, her apartment in Utopea, her quarters, all her clothes, the past two decades of her life— nothing is hers.

She’s seized with the indescribable urge to tear off her arm, to rip out her earrings and forget everything, to start again as someone who can stand beside Miss Amari and be a hero. Failure, that’s what she’s created. That’s what she’s been working for.

She does take out her earrings, carefully, then she takes off her Vishkar issued garb and washes herself twice, but the rolling in her gut never once calms down. She’s forgotten to turn off the notifications on her headpiece; she suspects the constant dinging noises are from Miss Amari.

She has to do something.

She’s failed, her mission has failed, her work has failed her. Her entire life—

What was it Pharah said that first night? She said that Satya did more good than she set out to do.

“You know how much I believe in you.”

Pharah trusts her. Pharah trusts her. Miss Amari lets Satya shield her and watch her back, she wants Satya to look at her mission dossiers and she seeks out Satya’s counsel, Satya’s support, Satya’s conversation, and Satya in turn… Satya loves it.

She stands wet and dripping in the middle of the room, and plans a map around her failure.

She’d be a fugitive. If she left Vishkar she’d be vulnerable and open to any attack. She’d be unable to make repairs on her own arm without income. She won’t be able to access her accounts, and when it’s discovered that she’s left her assets will be frozen. Her arm—

She must assume that this arm will be useless, and that she will not be able to rely on her manipulations indefinitely. She must not assume that she will be able to take care of herself immediately. She will need to withdraw large amounts of her own savings and leave immediately.

They’ll know she’s gone for good soon enough.

She can fix her mistakes. There’s no guarantee she can, but she must assume that it is the right thing to do. She must assume that this wall is not impenetrable, and she must assume that her abilities are worth Pharah’s confidence.

She must assume that she deserves Miss Amari’s trust in order to keep moving, in order to resist.

-

“Miss—“ there’s a pause, and “Miss Vaswani. I didn’t know if you’d respond to me again. I tried calling you so many times— I have to apologize, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I did not call you for that and you don’t need to.”

There’s a beat of silence and she wonders if she has offended Miss Amari.

“Then why—?” There’s nothing but curiosity and worry in her voice.

“It’s me who needs your help this time,” Satya says.

“Of course,” Miss Amari says immediately, like a reflex. “Anything. What do you need?”

Miss Amari is at her hotel within the hour, without any armor. She comes dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, looking so different and yet so much the same.

She refuses to help.

“I cannot do this for you. I’ll do anything else. Would you like me to take on Vishkar headquarters instead?”

“Please, Miss Amari. I won’t feel it, I just need you to help me once I deactivate the power.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I cannot leave you vulnerable.”

“I will not be! If you let me stay beside you, I’ll be safe.”

Miss Amari stares at her for a moment, the room gone silent and still.

“I have an idea. I need you to know something first, however.”

“Yes?” Satya pokes around at a joint in her finger.

“I did tell Lucio about you. I told him everything, but he was the one who wanted to be introduced to you.”

Satya freezes.

“Oh.”

“Yes. You know he has manipulated Vishkar technology successfully in the past, and you know that I have access to Overwatch’s resources. Let us help you.”

“And in exchange?”

“In exchange, you can keep doing what you’ve been doing. You go on helping us, like you have been.”

Satya does not say _I have been helping you, not Overwatch._ Instead she says: “you think this is a good idea?”

“I think it’s perfect. You’ll be safe and…” Miss Amari looks immensely delighted in that moment, despite the heavy mood. “You’ll be armed.”

Satya scrambles for something to throw at Miss Amari’s head for the pun. There’s nothing that won’t hurt, so she settles with practically throwing herself instead. Without the armor, the impact is quite soft and comfortable, and Miss Amari’s arms are warm around her.

She originally wanted to be rid of the arm as soon as possible, but Miss Amari was right. It would be wiser to wait.

She destroys the visor that night, however, knowing it contains a tracking device that can be accessed by her—

By Vishkar’s management.

Miss Amari stays by her side that night, sitting beside her on the large hotel bed and talking.

Satya falls asleep with her head turned to Miss Amari, who is still talking about the pains of falling from the sky and onto the Raptora wings, but if she could just reach out her hand… it would fall onto Miss Amari’s.

-

“I’m Lucio,” he says. She can’t see him, but his voice sounds kind, if a bit reserved. “I’ve heard a lot about you, a certain little birdy never shuts up.”

Satya barely manages to hold her tongue. She likes it when Miss Amari talks, and the thought of Miss Amari talking about _her_ makes her heart plunge into her stomach. She settles for raising an eyebrow at Miss Amari on the bed beside her. Miss Amari’s face darkens and she looks away, pouting slightly and fiddling with the edge of her shirt.

“You cannot blame me. Symmetra is very exciting,” Pharah grumbles, and Lucio snorts.

“No, for sure. Things have been nuts around here because of you two.”

Satya feels her heart leap from her stomach to her feet.

“I’m sorry.”

There’s silence washing over the radio and in the room. Satya keeps her eyes down.

“So you want to be a hero?”

“Lucio—“ Pharah begins to say something, but Satya interrupts.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me or welcome me, but I’d like the opportunity to fix my mistakes.”

“Well, you know what they say about step one,” Lucio says. Satya does not know what they say about step one. She chooses not to mention that, and instead lifts her gaze to where she knows Miss Amari’s eyes are.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t know who she says it to, but she means it with everything that’s absolutely her own.

“Winston’s sending a plane to pick you guys up tomorrow, take care till then.”

_Thank you._

-

Symmetra did not pack any of her own clothes aside from the mission suit she is wearing, so Pharah takes her shopping in the city. Miss Amari, upon holding up a pair of light jeans and facing Satya’s immense disapproval, had promised to buy her proper clothes as soon as they were able.

Satya refused. She would have her own money soon.

There was a slight disagreement about who would pay for everything, but Miss Amari was quite adamant that Satya save her money for the time being.

“Until we’re sure that you’re safe we will proceed as though you are not. So you will spend none of your money.”

Satya could not argue with that, since it was suspicious to withdraw almost a full quarter of her funds in one bank trip, she had better lie low for a while and not pull from her person wads of cash thicker than her arm.

She’ll refurbish a wardrobe when she’s free.

-

They fly (swoop) to the rendezvous point with ice-cream sticky fingers and bags of clothes.

A blonde woman and a gorilla meet them on the landing pad.

Satya very, very subtly stays behind Miss Amari, though she can barely peer over her shoulder when she’s in her armor.

The plane ride is easier after the initial introductions, and it’s only two hours to their destination.

-

The arm is the first thing to go, oddly enough.

Even more odd is the revelation that Winston is a talking gorilla, but she comes to terms with that as she comes to terms with the familiar lightness around her shoulder. He’s very kind.

Angela, or Mercy, numbs her entire side for the internal work in her shoulder, and Miss Amari pokes up and down her waist asking what she feels and where. It’s very childish and entirely welcome.

Being a runaway, a deserter, and a criminal is not half so uncomfortable as Satya expected. Miss Angela is kind and gentle, and Winston is quite charming, actually. Her room is spacious and well equipped, and Miss Amari is right across the hall from her.

It’s odd, going around without the weight of a second arm. She’s never been without for so long, not since her first outfitting. It’s not a pleasant memory, but the feeling of lightness isn’t altogether a bad one.

“Where is this place, exactly?” she asks Winston.

“That ‘exactly’ is classified, miss, I’m sorry to say. We are somewhere in Mexico, however.”

That’s quite far off from where she started yesterday, in Hong Kong.

“You’ll be off to Gibraltar as soon as we recreate a prosthetic for you here, however.”

“Gibraltar?”

“Lucio agreed to travel there, he’ll be helping you redesign… all of this, or as much of it as you need. I have to say I’ll be lingering very much nearby, hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Excellent. You know the potential for this technology is massive.”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Of course. Sorry.”

“You’re correct. I wish to use that potential in my own way now.”

“I hope I’m not overstepping, but you should know that Pharah has placed a lot of faith in you.”

“I know.”

“I think it will be well deserved.”

-

“Have I told you that loose hair suits you even better when you’re in blue?”

Satya tries not to do something embarrassing, like blush and look away while tucking her hair behind her ear. She fails. At least Miss Amari laughs for her.

-

Lucio whistles. Satya has seen people whistle when they are impressed in movies, but she has never seen someone actually do it.

He holds the arm between his hands, and actually tosses it into the air and catches it again.

“Classic V. tech,” he says lightly. “But I’ll be real, this is miles ahead of what they put on us in Rio.”

Satya watches him poke around more.

“We could just change the frame. Ain’t no shame in just reworking it. You alright with that?”

She considers him for a moment.

“We should first make sure there is no tracking device within it, I suppose. But you’re right. I originally wanted it gone so that… I could feel free of it.”

“I get that.”

Satya continues to watch him, wondering where Pharah is. It’s odd, but while Pharah is with her more often now than she’s been before, Satya has spent more time wondering where she is than she ever did when the two of them were a continent apart.

“How do you feel about the changeable plating?”

“Pardon me?”

“Like, so when you change outfits, you can have other colors? Instead of just brown and… white. I could do more.”

“I’d like violet and gold, I think.”

“Awesome. I’ll get Winston to take another look into this, and then we can give it an upgrade. Maybe we’ll mess with these motors in your wrist. Those are kinda weird actually, you don’t usually see—”

Satya decides she likes “we.”

The other inhabitants of the base are elusive and loud. The structure is enormous and it echoes with the occasional sounds of screaming and gunshots. She chooses to ignore these because Miss Amari ignores them. There is, at one point, an eruption of blue light through the wall, and all Miss Amari does is roll her eyes.

She had only been there one night, but she had heard many explosions, and the name she became most acquainted with was a “diva.” It got screamed amongst the booms quite often.

She’s in the kitchens making tea when she meets the famed diva.

“Hiya.”

“Hello.”

“Lucio said I should introduce myself.”

Satya waits for the introduction.

“I’m Hana, Diva. New blood, like you.”

“I’m Satya. I’m… new.”

“Hear you’re doing good, Pharah won’t shut up about you.”

Satya smiles a little.

“She has not mentioned any of you to me. Tell me, what does ‘nerf this?’ mean?”

-

According to the files Miss Amari let her glimpse over (many parts classified) it is actually D.va and not diva. She mentions this to Miss Song later, but all she gets in response is a very delighted “keep calling me diva, please!”

-

“We’ll have a mission in two days, how do you feel about that?”

“I’d like a chance to spar with you before then, Miss Amari. We should test my arm out.”

“Why, Miss Vaswani. If you wish to fight me you must call me Fareeha.”

“I don’t usually allow my fallen enemies to call me Satya, but I suppose when I defeat you, you may make your praise out to Satya.”

They barely make it to the open training room, utterly destroying traditions of hand-to-hand combat and several windows. Angela has Miss— Fareeha sweeping away broken glass till nearly midnight.

They meet again in Fareeha’s rooms, where Satya intercepts her and Fareeha reaches for her hands.

“Miss Amari, I look forward to working with you again.”

“I look forward to having my partner all to myself. I didn’t like sharing you.”

A voice rings out behind them; “you’ll be sharing her with all of us now, Pharah, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Angela runs a finger alongside the tiles where Fareeha swept.

“Very good, you know you’ll be covering repairs yes? Just like last time, and the time before that, and the time you challenged Reinhardt to battle.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“Now get to rest,” Angela says. “Symmetra has had enough of your upheaval for one day.”

Satya disagrees with Angela, she absolutely has not had enough of Miss Fareeha’s upheaval, but she doesn’t know how to tell anyone this just yet.

-

Satya considers Fareeha till she falls asleep, with dawn curling into the only window in her room.

Miss Amari. Fareeha.

The way she held both her hands in hers.

                                                                                                                               

**Author's Note:**

> comments are appreciated by all in-progress writers practicing their craft, but esp by this one


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